


Zero Balance

by Scientia_Fantasia



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: (but not THAT kind of vulcan biology), Alternate Universe - Library, M/M, Puppy Love, Vulcan Biology, they're teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 06:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8152654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scientia_Fantasia/pseuds/Scientia_Fantasia
Summary: Teen(ish, Vulcans are weird) Spock finally talks to this James Kirk kid that is in the library all the damn time, and then asks his mom what these weird warm and fuzzies mean.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to tumblr user nerds-are-cool even though I went way off their prompt on this one. But yknow.
> 
> Crossposted on my tumblr

His name was James Kirk. That was the name, at least, that appeared on the monitor when Spock scanned in his returned books, occasionally pressing a button to reassure the system that, no, the book wasn’t late. He had simply fallen behind on his work the night before, that was all--the balance on that account could stay at zero.

(He had never once fallen behind during the years he had been there--most of the process was automated, after all. But here was this young man with a fascination for paper books and their faded covers, who had dug in his pockets, shame-faced, on a day the system marked his name in red, and placed a pile of coins on the counter. It wasn’t enough to forgive his fine, but Spock had taken them, and erased the balance, and kept the secret for as long as he could stand.

When he confessed his guilt, nearly a month later, to his mother, she had smiled and put an arm around him, and kissed the top of his head, and explained to him that sometimes rules needed to be broken, and sometimes offering the comfort of a book was worth more than a few-credit fine.)

He could estimate James Kirk’s age from his knowledge of human physiology and their educational structure. Kirk had grown since Spock had begun volunteering--then working--at the library, under the watchful eye of his mother until he was capable of handling himself. His pale hair had grown in darker, the lines of his jaw harder, and then shaded with patches of stubble. He visited more commonly on the weekends, and not frequently before 15:00 otherwise, which indicated that he either attended school, or worked a job with consistent hours. His empty pockets suggested the former.

He was between approximately 17 and 19 Earth-years of age, then.

Spock paused in his work and ran his fingers along the line of his jaw. The very _smooth_ line. He was 21 years of age on this planet, but the rate of Vulcan growth meant that he still had years to go before he reached similar maturity to James Kirk. This bothered him, for reasons he would not entirely name. Perhaps it was that he was required to live with these odd and often mismatched transitional physical features for nearly twice as long. Perhaps it was that he, at a possible four years older than this human, had required a footstool to see over the counter when he had first arrived, while James Kirk had already grown into a long, if awkward, figure.

Perhaps.

But he did not need the footstool anymore--would no doubt soon be taller than most humans, if his Vulcan genetics had more influence than his human. And James Kirk was no longer awkward.

He was...tired. Yes, tired was no doubt the correct descriptor, as he frequently appeared in the library with dreary, dark eyes, and considering the fact that he was, currently, asleep.

Spock stared, unblinkingly, across the open lobby of the library at their lounge area. At James Kirk, who was laying curled up on a couch, only his back visible, his book lying open and forgotten at the table behind him.

A clock mounted on the far wall blinked its seconds at Spock. He waited through 158 of them until the hour turned, indicating release from his obligation, at which point he stepped out from behind the desk and walked over to the sleeping human, leaning over him.

He looked almost unfamiliar. The past three years had seen James Kirk returning to the library with ever more guarded expressions and body language. Though he was still curled up protectively, his face held no tension. It was...odd.

The emotions Spock experienced at the sight were similarly unfamiliar. He would question his mother about them at a later time. For the current moment, curiosity had overwhelmed him.

“James Kirk.”

The human startled awake, arms swinging out to grasp at something and eyes open all at once, pupils dilated and lungs gasping for air.

Spock resisted the urge to startle as well, delegating his physical reaction to a slight increase in heart rate and a tilt of his head.

“Spock,” he said, after their eyes finally met, “J--Jesus, Spock, you can’t just--” he closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, breathing deeply. “Sorry. Sorry--didn’t mean to...what time is it? Are you kicking me out?”

“I am not kicking you out,” he said, first. It was the easiest part of the sentence to address. “We do not close for another three hours. You are free to continue sleeping if you wish. However, I am curious as to why you are sleeping here. To my knowledge, you have not done so before.”

James Kirk sat up, and Spock straightened as to afford him his personal space.

“Well, uh, I fell asleep,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t really mean to. Guess I haven’t been sleeping a whole lot lately...”

“Why have you not been sleeping?”

The guarded expression returned suddenly. “Family stuff,” he said, reaching beside Spock to retrieve the book he had been reading. “It’s no big deal.”

“I presume you are giving an incomplete answer because you do not wish to speak on the subject.”

James Kirk sighed. “Yeah, Spock,” he said. “You’re right. So please, just drop it.”

“Very well, James Kirk.”

“Jim,” he said, finally looking up to meet Spock’s eyes. “Call me Jim.”

“Very well, Jim,” Spock corrected, nodding. “Jim--if you are still tired, there is a cot in the back room that you may find more comfortable.”

“Oh. Really?” the human’s bright blue eyes blinked a few times. “Well, I’m good for now, but...I’ll keep that in mind.”

Spock stared at him. He did not believe this was how human conversations were meant to unfold, but he was not sure whether the fault lay with him or with...Jim. He felt a sense of dissatisfaction. He wished, perhaps, to help Jim in some way, and had repeatedly been turned away. He should not feel dissatisfied for that reason, but he did.

“There is also,” he continued, wanting one last try, “space in our house, if you would be able to rest there.”

Jim’s expression tightened, his eyes turning away. “Yeah, Frank would kill me if I broke curfew,” he said. The words implied humor, but they were not said with any. Instead, Jim curled up against the arm of the couch, opening the book and resting it on his knees. “Isn’t your shift over, Spock?” he said, without looking at him. “Go home.”

Spock stood there for one more moment, staring. But there was nothing he could do for now, as helpless as that made him feel. There was something in Jim’s life that should not be there, or perhaps something that should that was not. The emotions that the thought evoked were not things that Spock wished to feel. But he also did not think it would be good for Jim for it to be ignored.

He would not ignore it, then. He would simply let the topic rest for now.

“I will see you tomorrow, Jim,” he said, and went home.

***

His mother was in her office, as she usually was, typing on two screens that illuminated her tired eyes, physical reference materials piled up on her desk around her.

Spock tapped his knuckles on the doorframe, only loud enough to be heard.

“Just a moment, dear,” she said, eyes not leaving her work as she finished her current thought--but she soon made a gesture that dimmed her screens, and turned her chair around to face Spock, smiling despite her apparent fatigue.

“Spock,” she said, as he approached her. “How have you been today? Did anything exciting happen at the library?”

“My day was adequate,” he responded. He was looking down at her as she sat. He remembered a time that did not seem long ago when he would crawl into her lap when he wished for her company. “I would like your help identifying an emotion.”

“Oh?” she questioned, her eyebrows raising. “A new one? I’m intrigued.” She held her hands out to him, and he took them.

He understood her curiosity. He himself had assumed his knowledge of emotions was expansive enough at this age to identify each one he felt, if not yet understand them completely. But it seemed there was no end to the contradictory experiences his brain had yet to present to him.

He attempted to return his mind to his encounter with Jim earlier that day--leaning over him as he slept on the couch, finally peaceful. He had felt nervous, almost, and there was a tightness in his chest, but unaccompanied by the logical urge to avoid such a stimulus. Rather, he wanted to seek it out further. It was...strange, and he could not say whether he enjoyed it. He isolated those feelings and shared them with his mother with the hope of further guidance.

She looked pensive for a moment, and then surprised again. Then she smiled, as if she were holding back laughter--but her smile became softer when she finally turned her attention back to Spock.

“Did you speak with James today?”

He frowned, sliding his hands away from hers, head tilting unhurriedly. “On what grounds did you infer that? Is this emotion directly related to him?”

“Oh, call it a mother’s intuition,” she said.

“Intuition still has basis in fact.”

“Of course.” She inclined her head, briefly. “I’ve noticed that you tend to talk about him more often than other regulars at the library. Though, of course, he does visit very frequently. But...” she paused. Spock recognized it as her attempting to gather her thoughts in order to phrase them in a way that would be least offensive to him. He prepared himself.

“That emotion feels a lot like _infatuation_ ,” she said, her smile returning. “James seemed like a safe guess as to who...who it was focused on.”

Spock felt his ears growing warm. “'Infatuation' as in...romantic affection? Love?”

She nodded. “Infatuation is certainly where love can start. Sometimes it goes away, but it can develop into a more permanent connection.”

He turned his head so he could stare at the floor rather than meet her eyes. Infatuated with Jim--that was...he had hardly spoken to him. He did not understand.

The one thing that was clear was that despite his mother’s best efforts, this conversation had become unbearably embarrassing, and he wanted nothing more than to leave.

“This requires further research,” he stated, quickly, and turned heel to retreat to his room, face burning as he went up the stairs, shut his door, and crawled into bed, enveloping himself in his comforter seeking a measure of physical peace to offset his mental state.

Infatuation. Infatuation with _Jim Kirk_.

How...

Illogical.


End file.
